


Crystal

by Cerfblanc



Series: The Mental Pressure of Failure [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Break Up, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Childhood, Coming of Age, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Platonic Romance, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc
Summary: “Does that mean Sam can spend more time with me?”I need to be a good brother, because, apparently, I was a pretty shit boyfriend for a couple of months.





	Crystal

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a very hormonal eighteen-year-old Sam’s Perspective (•.•) I’d love any feedback! :D

“I’m breaking up with you.” She says, not one bit sympathetic.

She probably thinks I’m going to burst into tears or something, or maybe I’m going shout my head off, or maybe I’m going to just walk away and mutter a quiet little “okay”. The look she has on her face clearly says she doesn’t give a shit.

But I’m not bothered about it.

I try to nod and maybe look a little disappointed. Fuck, how are you meant to react to a breakup you weren’t expecting? Just, _fuck_. Are you meant to feel sad?— _wait of course you’re meant to be sad what kind of question is that_ —Because _Hell_ , I feel kinda happy.

Crystal twirls a bit of dirty blond hair around her index finger as she waits for my response.

I swallow, and momentarily hope my brain would conjure up a good reply, but nothing fucking happens, “Oh?” Is all I say.

“Are we good?” She says. I blink and nod.

“Sorry.” She adds. Her eyes look me up and down like I’m eye candy. God, I wish I were that to everyone who thinks I’m attractive. The chances were tiny, though. Maybe she thinks I’m gay. 

I laugh, and immediately regret it. This wasn’t meant to be funny. I’m meant to be crying. Like the broken-hearted boy off some shitty rom-com. I’m meant to be sad. _Christ_ , shed some fucking tears, Sam, for the sake of realism.

“It’s fine.” I say, biting my lip. I shove my hands into my pockets. “You gonna go find a new guy?”

Her eyes widen.

_Wrong move. Fuck. Dick move. That probably wasn’t good. Don’t do that again. Note to self. Do not._

Maybe she _is_  sympathetic about it. Maybe I’m blind.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” I quickly rephrase, “I hope the best for you.” She didn’t do anything wrong, so why not give a nice reminder of how nice she was to me?

She nods, and forces a soft smile. “Yeah. You too.”

When she walks away down the pavement of the street we were once stood at I laugh again. I get a few looks from people, but I don’t care. I should watch more romances. It might educate me on how to deal with breakups with more feelings. Did I even need feelings? I feel kinda happy without them right now.

I jog back home. It’s getting dark.

I open the door to Mom in the kitchen. She’s making dinner, I think. Whatever it is it smells good. My little brother—the platonic love of my life, my _platonic fucking soulmate_ —is sitting at the kitchen table with his school books out. I kiss Mom’s cheek and she asks, “Where’d you go to?”

I take off my jacket as I respond, “Crystal just broke up with me.”

Normality didn’t feel like normality then. I think I should have thought about how I was going to say that, but I didn’t. I didn’t know how. Was I meant to think about it?

Mom looks like she just saw a bunny get run over. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry.”

I blink. “What?”

My little brother chirps then. “Does that mean Sam can spend more time with me?”

Mom almost drops what she’s holding and she turns to glare daggers at him, “ _Nathan_.” She glances back at me then back at him, “be more sympathetic, for God’s sake.”

Yeah. Sympathetic. Haha. That’s funny.

“It didn’t bother me.” I say, “it kinda felt like it was going to happen anyway.”

Mom doesn’t look convinced. She’s looking at me with concern, and I try to blank it by taking a seat next to my brother. “Well…I’m happy you’re not upset about it.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I pick up one of Nathan’s pencils and start to doodle on the corner of—what was it, math? I can’t do math—his worksheet. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. His OCD hasn’t kicked in yet. I should learn from him. My little brother has no care in the world. I need to be more like him.

“Do you still love her?” He whispers, quiet enough for Mom not to hear. I meet his young eyes, and shake my head.

“Can you play games with me on weekends then?” He adds, still whispering, and I smile.

“We’ll do more than play games.” I whisper, and he smiles back.

I’d play games and read books forever with him. We’d go to places and eat whatever we want and take endless pictures of everything we wouldn’t remember and stay up all night watching films until our eyes turn red and burn our hair when we’re bored and stupid as fuck and we’d chase each other with thumbtacks when we’re mad—and when we can hardly comprehend what we’re talking about, we’ll go.

When he turns eighteen I’ll teach him the do’s and don’t’s and how to not fuck up and how to properly flirt and everything else I haven’t done. Yet. We’d do it together. Everything and anything.

After that I’m not really sure what my plans are. I haven’t planned anything yet. I will though. At some point. I will. Because that’s important. I need to be a good brother, because, apparently, I was a pretty shit boyfriend for a couple of months.

 


End file.
